


First Dance

by lostinscotland



Series: SuperLeverage! [1]
Category: Leverage, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Even if they aren't real tags, Gen, I'm basically tagging the things I would search for, In that there's a kid, Kid Fic, Outside POV on Eliot, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 18:49:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13793964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinscotland/pseuds/lostinscotland
Summary: Dean's on a routine hunt when he's attacked by a guy in black who accuses him of being a kidnapper. Things don't really get any less weird as the day progresses.First in a series of meetings between Dean Winchester and Eliot Spencer. Pre-series for both shows.





	First Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, all! I give you the first of what will hopefully be a lengthy series of meetings between these two lovely boys. This is set pre-series for both shows. Supernatural fans, we're about two years pre-series, so Sam's at college, Dean's hunting solo, but still new at it.  
> Leverage fans, this is five years before the team gets together. Since the timeline is never fully established, I'm going to say that Eliot's only just left Moreau and started retrieving. Not that it'll be relevant in this one, but for future reference.
> 
> Enjoy!

2003

Dean’s pretty sure he’s being watched, and he wishes, not for the first time, that either Dad or Sammy was here to have his back.

But he’s been doing solo hunts for a while now, and he’s not ready to give that up just yet. Maybe someday he’ll get a case near Stanford, and he can drop in and kidnap Sammy for a quick hunt. Remind him of the fun they had between all the fights with Dad (and each other).

For now, though, he’s got a job to do. There’s a five-year-old girl missing, and some kind of ghost he needs to kill. They’ve never dealt with a haunting quite like this before, but Dad’s tracked the pattern – a little girl taken from the same town every sixteen years, no ransom demands, no leads until the girl turns up dead in the proximity of the local haunted house – and he sent Dean off to deal with any spirits and find the girl, so that’s what he intends to do. He’s hoping to find the girl alive. It’s been a couple days since she disappeared, but all the other girls seem to have died of starvation or other kinds of neglect, rather than outright murder. One of them had wandered a few miles away from the house before she died. So even if this girl, Kerry or Kelly or something, hasn’t eaten since she’s been taken, there’s still a chance he can get to her in time.

Dean scans the woods around him as he approaches the house. It’s a pretty isolated place, too big to be called a cabin but too rustic to really be anything else. He doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary, but he can’t shake the feeling that someone – or more likely, some _thing_ – is tracking him. It’s not really a new sensation, not in his line of work, but it’s not one he’s ever gotten comfortable with either. Still, there’s nothing to be done about that, so he continues towards the house, climbs the front stairs, and cautiously approaches the door.

It’s not locked, which he supposes is a relief. He enters quietly, shuts the door behind him, and advances into the room. He doesn’t see any lamps or light switches, but there’s enough sunlight coming through the windows that his vision isn’t affected.

It’s a little too quiet. Not that he expects helpful organ music to start up anytime he’s about to be in danger (though he and Sammy have agreed that would be awesome and make hunts so much easier) but he’d hoped there would be something. If there’s a spirit coming for him, it’ll probably knock some shit over or send wind howling at him or some such. If there’s a little kid being kept here, shouldn’t there be crying or talking or something? He hasn’t spent much time with kids, but he’s pretty sure they’re not known for being quiet. Unless the girl’s dead, and he’s too late.

But no. He’ll keep looking. So he wanders a little farther into the room, eyeing the two separate doorways and the staircase branching onward into the house. He’s not sure where to check first, and a part of him wishes he’d gotten more intel before coming in, but how would talking to the girl’s parents have really helped? If a hundred-year-old ghost took their kid, what does he expect them to know about it?

He chooses the hallway leading to what appears to be a kitchen as his first stop; if nothing else, he can hopefully find salt there. Of course he brought some with him, but stupidly left it in the car. So, the kitchen it is.

He’s barely made it halfway across the room, however, when the sense of being watched electrifies all the way up his spine. He’s got his gun in his hands before he’s even had the chance to think, and he whirls back to the front door.

The front door that slams shut now that silence is no longer an issue. Dean barely has a chance to process the fact that this isn’t a ghost, because he’d needed to open the door, as the guy crosses the room and takes the gun from his hands in a movement too fast to follow, but that leaves his wrists and fingers smarting.

He’s surprised enough that he doesn’t strike back during the second it takes the guy to dismantle his gun and toss it to the side, but he’s assessing already, looking for a weakness. The guy’s dressed all in black, with a watch cap not quite covering hair just a bit shaggier than Sammy’s. He’s a few inches shorter than Dean, all compact muscle and deadly confidence, and he looks maybe thirty. He moves faster than any human Dean’s ever met, but he’s not ringing any bells for supernatural creatures, either. Maybe he kidnapped the girl? Yeah, there was a pattern, but they’ve been wrong before.

Dean’s circling as he thinks, fists up and ready, and the guy gives a vicious grin and beckons him forward. “C’mon, boy,” he says, his voice all gravel but with a definite Southern twang to it. In the tiny part of his mind not focused on fighting his way out of whatever this is, Dean makes a note to tell Sammy he’s found a guy who sounds way more like Batman than Dean does, for all that his voice is deeper.

Dean throws two quick punches, and Cowboy Batman blocks them, moves into them, and slams the heel of his hand into Dean’s sternum, knocking him back. Dean comes back swinging, but he takes an elbow to the side of his head and two quick jabs to the ribs before he manages to land a punch of his own. Even that doesn’t seem to do any good; Batman simply rocks the momentum back into Dean, pinning him to the wall with one hand at his throat and the other holding his right forearm to the side.

“Where’s the girl?” Batman growls as Dean attempts to dislodge the hand slowly choking him. Whoever the hell this guy is, he deserves the nickname for more than just the voice now.

“What girl?” It takes a few seconds for Dean to remember the little girl he’s come here to rescue. He’s been far too focused on no-show ghosts and mysterious ninjas.

The fingers dig further into his neck. “Don’t play with me, boy. I know she’s here. What I don’t know yet is why you have her.” The man’s eyes narrow into the most lethal glare Dean’s ever encountered, and he’s had plenty of monsters try to kill him before. “Two days and no ransom demand. For your sake, I hope this is a custody issue and you’re working for her mama. Because if you took that little girl for something other than a payout, I’m gonna kill you real slow and painful, you got me?”

Well, shit. If that’s what the guy’s thinking, then Dean can understand his position. Still, he needs to get out of this. While Batman’s grip allows him to both breathe and speak, both are incredibly painful and he’s not having any luck dislodging him. Not to mention, there’s still that spirit he’ll need to put down. “I didn’t take her, man. I’m here to get her back, same as you.”

This time his airway is cut off for a second, and his right arm twists painfully in Batman’s grip. “No other contractors on this job. One more lie and I put you down. How many others here with you?”

“None. It’s just me.” Dean’s really hoping the guy accepts that at least, because he’s still not seeing any way out of this. Dad’s gonna give him so much crap for letting one lousy human take him out so easily, but there’s no denying he’s outmatched. Even if he gets loose, fighting this guy is not gonna accomplish anything.

Before Batman can decide he’s lying again and kill him, a quiet knock sounds from the edges of the room, and a tremulous voice calls, “Hello?”

Dean readies himself to move the moment Batman turns his head, but the other man moves first. He jerks Dean forward by the collar while rotating his arm backwards, and Dean bites back a yell as his shoulder pops out of joint. A kick and a shove send him to his knees, and Batman growls, “stay down!” before moving toward the closed door next to the hallway.

Apparently the door’s locked, because Batman has to turn a handle in addition to the doorknob, but soon enough the door opens to reveal a tiny redheaded girl with wide, hopeful eyes. Batman drops into a crouch and smiles at her, his face completely transformed from the murderous expression he wore a second ago.

“Hey, sweetheart,” the guy says, his voice a soothing croon instead of the growl Dean’s come to expect. “It’s Kerry, right? My name’s Eliot. Your daddy sent me to bring you home.”

“Really?” The girl looks at him like he’s just introduced her to Santa Claus.

“Really.” Batman – or Eliot, apparently – holds out a hand to her, and the child flings herself into his arms. “Okay, darlin’, I got you,” he says, turning back to Dean, who’s still on the floor.

And maybe he should just let them go? If Eliot can get her out of here, that’s one less civilian Dean needs to worry about. Of course, that’s assuming Eliot doesn’t decide to kill Dean on his way out.

It’s gonna suck fighting a ghost with a dislocated shoulder, but the adrenaline should get him through. And the sooner it decides to kick in, the better. Right now he’s in agony, but focusing on it won’t help.

“Kerry, honey,” Eliot says, though he doesn’t break eye contact with Dean.

“What?” She finally releases him and steps back, and seems to notice Dean for the first time.

“Did this guy hurt you?” The look in Eliot’s eye promises far more pain if she says yes.

“No,” she says, looking back to Eliot for answers. “Who’s he?”

“I told you,” Dean grumbles, and struggles to his feet, wincing as he tries to steady his arm with his opposite hand.

Eliot stands too, putting himself between Dean and Kerry, but then looks back down at his charge. “Kerry, who took you?”

The little girl seems to shrink into herself, and Eliot nudges her closer with a protective hand atop her head in a movement so casual it looks instinctive rather than planned. “A weird lady. She keeps calling me Anna.”

“Anna?”

And there it is. As if summoned by the name, an apparition flickers into existence in the hallway behind Kerry and Eliot. Dean was expecting an older guy, the patriarch of the last family who’d lived here, but this is a teenage girl. She’s wearing a simple, old-fashioned dress and a large gold locket that she keeps fingering as she advances.

“Anna,” she says, her voice more breath than speech, and Eliot whirls to face her.

“You need to back off, lady.” Dean can’t see his face, but he sees the way Eliot’s nudging Kerry behind him, the way the girl clamps onto his leg. That can’t be good for his range of motion, but Dean’s not actually sure how much she’ll slow him down.

The ghost hadn’t seemed to notice the two men before, but now her sights lock on Eliot, rage contorting her features and setting her whole silhouette sputtering in and out of view. “She’s mine,” she hisses, and if her strobe light impression doesn’t convince Eliot she’s not quite human, her voice certainly should.

“This isn’t Anna,” Eliot says, his tone soothing and reasonable. Far too reasonable, if you ask Dean. Instead of freaking out like any normal person would do, the guy’s zeroed in on what the ghost is saying instead of what she is. He’s got one hand on Kerry’s shoulder, and the other is stretched out to the spirit in a calming gesture. “This is Kerry. Now I don’t think you want to hurt her, but she’s gonna end up hurt if you don’t let her go home to her daddy.”

It’s not a bad strategy, Dean reflects as he edges toward the kitchen and the salt. He’s never tried reasoning with a ghost before, but this one looks like she’s at least considering Eliot’s words. And if they’re lucky, if she stays focused on keeping the girl instead of killing them, they could get out of this without too much trouble.

Of course, as soon as he thinks that, all the windows explode inwards. “No,” the ghost screams. “You can’t take her! They always take her! She’s mine!” She flings out an arm, and Eliot goes flying across the room. Kerry shrieks as she’s carried along with him, but he somehow manages to wrap himself around her before they hit the wall.

With no viable weapon to hand, Dean ignores the two civilians for the moment and runs for the kitchen. The ghost snarls wordlessly and throws him, too, but at least she throws him in the direction he’s already going. He crashes into the kitchen floor, jarring his injured shoulder further and knocking his head on a nearby cabinet. Still, it takes more than that to keep him down, so he curses to himself and climbs to his feet.

From the other room, he can hear the ghost railing about the girl being hers, and Kerry crying, occasional squeaks startling through the sobs that Dean thinks must be a reaction to every new supernatural surprise. He doesn’t hear a thing from Eliot, and that worries him more than it should.

And hey, there’s that adrenaline he’s been wishing for. It doesn’t make his shoulder hurt any less, but now that there’s a fight to be won, he can ignore it a little easier. He ransacks the cabinets as quickly as he can, and while he doesn’t find any iron, it seems luck hasn’t completely abandoned him, because there are three full canisters of salt in the kitchen.

He grabs all three of them, gingerly cradling two between his flopping arm and his body, using his good elbow pressed against his useless wrist to secure the arm against his torso. Then, cursing every step of the way, he hurries back into the living room and flings a handful of salt at the ghost. It’s clumsy and awkward and he loses far more salt than he wants to, but she disappears, and however long it buys them will have to be enough.

“What the hell, man?” Eliot demands. He’s standing in front of Kerry now, though she’s reattached herself to his leg, and judging by the state of his bare forearms (bloody) and the floor around him (trashed), he’s spent the last minute or two deflecting all kinds of projectiles courtesy of the spirit.

“Short version?” Dean says, tossing him the canister in his hand and then a second one until he’s holding only one himself and his arm can go back to being thoroughly out of commission. Eliot catches them both without breaking eye contact, his expression still demanding an explanation. Dean obliges. “That was a ghost. She stole the girl, not sure why, but she’s been doing it for decades now. The salt repels her, but it won’t kill her, so you need to make a circle out of it and get inside.”

To his credit, Eliot doesn’t waste any time questioning his sanity. He considers Dean for a fraction of a second before pouring the salt in a large circle around himself and the child crying into his pant leg. “So what does kill her?”

And there’s the rub. “You get rid of a ghost by salting and burning their bones, but everyone who lived in this house was supposed to have been cremated. So either she wasn’t, or we’re looking for some sort of keepsake of hers. Something with sentimental value, and possibly with some of her DNA on it. Hair, teeth, anything like that.”

“She’s mine!” comes the unearthly shriek from behind him, and Dean whirls and flings another handful of salt before the ghost can advance any further. She disappears again, looking furious.

“You planning on getting in the magic circle before she kills you?” Eliot asks, sardonic in a way that seems rather at odds with his current position, kneeling with an arm around the frightened little girl.

Dean shakes his head, his eyes roaming the room. “No, I need to find what binds her here. The salt’s just a band-aid, it won’t keep her gone long. Not long enough to get the two of you to safety.”

“Real touching how you’re concerned for me.” Eliot’s gaze ticks to the other side of the room, and before Dean can do more than look, he’s flicked salt from his second canister into the still flickering ghost. “Get in the damn circle, man. Take a second and _think._ ”

“Fine.” Dean steps into the circle, noting absently that Eliot made it big enough to easily fit the three of them. He keeps surveying the room, looking for signs of the people who lived here. “Portraits are a possibility, or it could be a doll. If she’s fixated on the kid…” He’s horrified for a brief moment, but no. The kid may be what she wants, but that’s not what’s keeping her here. He’s not going to have to burn a kid. Jesus, why is he even thinking like that?

“How much you wanna bet she had a baby they took away from her? Named her Anna, maybe? That age, that time period, she’d be a disgrace. Doesn’t mean she wouldn’t try to get the baby back.”

And thank god Eliot’s making sense. It’s a solid theory, one he should’ve thought of. One he would’ve thought of, but this day has been weird. “Okay. So some kind of keepsake of her baby? Maybe one of Anna’s hairs, even. That could do it.”

“Notice that necklace she was wearing? Touched it every damn time she looked at the kid.”

Yes. The man’s a genius. If they get through this, Dean totally owes him a beer.

When the ghost reappears yet again, she seems to be beyond words, just screaming at them. Dean takes a good look at the locket around her neck before Eliot douses her with salt.

“I’ll find the locket,” Dean says. “Keep her here if you can.” He grasps his salt canister in his left hand and runs out of the circle, heading for the stairs. There’s no guarantee, but a bedroom is his best bet as to where he’ll find the necklace.

The first two rooms he looks in yield nothing, but the third has promise. It’s dusty and dark, but there are a few outdated posters on the wall, and he figures this, if any, would be the room a teenage girl might’ve lived in. He approaches the dresser and sets down his salt to go through the old jewelry box. This would be easier with two hands, but what the hell, he’s adaptable. There are a bunch of necklaces, but only one the size he’s looking for. And there.

Yahtzee.

“Got it!” he yells.

And promptly flies into a wall.

He’s got the locket in his hand, but he’s across the room from the salt now, and the ghost is advancing on him. All the glass in the room is shattering, and he’s defenseless here. And she very clearly wants him dead.

“Anna,” a voice scoffs, the derision perfectly pitched to carry up the stairs. Dean and the ghost both turn toward the doorway. “Ya can’t name the little bastard. Ya ain’t keeping it. If you think for one goddamned second I’m gonna let you bring shame on our family like that, you’re crazier’n I ever thought, girl.”

The ghost tears from the room, and Dean has to shake himself out of his stupor to make use of the time Eliot’s just bought him. He drops the locket on the floor by his feet, then digs his lighter out of his pocket. At least he hadn’t forgotten that, or he’d be royally screwed. As it is, it still takes a long few seconds before he’s able to operate the lighter with his left hand, but then the jewelry is going up in flames in the way no un-cursed metal ever does, and there’s a cutoff shriek from downstairs.

“Um.” It’s the first time he’s heard Eliot unsure of himself, and Dean chuckles as he climbs to his feet. “I think she’s gone?”

He jogs down the stairs and into the room where he’d left Eliot and Kerry. “Up in flames?” he asks, meeting Eliot’s eyes.

“Yeah. So we can leave this little circle now?”

“Yeah, you’re good.” Dean watches as Eliot once again crouches beside Kerry, then shakes his head and smirks. “Appreciate the assist, but wow, dude. That was cold.”

Eliot pulls the little girl into his arms and shrugs, though his expression says he’s more troubled by the ruse than he’d like to admit. “Ain’t like that sort of thing’s changed so much, is it?”

Dean thinks about pointing out that it’d very much sounded like Eliot was quoting someone specific, but decides not to poke a potential sore spot of a man who could still kill him if he wanted to. Sammy would be so proud.

“So,” he says, in what he hopes isn’t too blatant an attempt to change the subject, “let’s get this kid out of here, shall we?”

Eliot raises an eyebrow in his direction, but then he pulls back a bit from the child and cups her face in his hands. “You ready to go home, sweetheart?”

“Mm-hm.” The tears seem to have dried up, but it doesn’t look like Kerry’s letting go of Eliot anytime soon. Well, Dean can’t really blame her for that. Poor kid’s been through a lot.

“Okay. Your daddy says your backpack and your favorite bear were gone along with you. Did the weird lady bring ‘em here?”

“Yeah, they’re downstairs. Can we go get teddy?” Kerry’s eyes widen considerably at the thought of retrieving her prize.

“Sure thing.” Eliot stands, swinging her up with him, then looks to Dean. “You’ll keep an eye?”

Dean nods, and the two disappear downstairs. They’re back moments later, a scruffy teddy bear clutched to Kerry’s chest and a comically purple backpack on Eliot’s shoulder.

“Suits you,” Dean says, grinning, and Eliot only rolls his eyes.

“Gimme a sec, darlin’,” he says, setting the girl on the ground and handing her the backpack. He then approaches Dean and gestures him around the corner.

Dean follows warily. “Look, man, you’ve already proved you can take me. And I’ve proved I didn’t kidnap anybody. There’s no need to do anything violent.”

“Shut up,” Eliot says, then points to a nearby chair. “Sit down.”

“Why?”

Eliot looks like he’s losing his last shreds of patience. “Cause you’re taller than me, you idiot. Or would you like me to leave your shoulder like that?”

“Oh.” He hadn’t thought of that. Eliot had dislocated his shoulder very purposefully and precisely; it only makes sense he’d know how to fix it.

Dean sits.

He feels Eliot’s hands on him and tries not to tense; he’s watched him with Kerry, after all, and knows the man’s capable of more than violence. But he’s still feeling the pain from the last time Eliot touched him, and he very much does not want a repeat of that.

“Relax.”

Dean takes a breath to argue, and Eliot pops the joint back into place.

“Shit!”

Eliot smacks him upside the head. “There’s a kid out there.”

“Ow. You’re an asshole, you know that?”

Eliot steps around in front of him and smirks. “I’m gonna tell her father who taught her those words, and then I’m gonna enjoy getting paid to teach you manners.”

“If that was meant to change my mind about you, it didn’t work,” Dean retorts, putting a hand to his injured shoulder and flexing it around.

“Put some ice on that,” Eliot calls over his shoulder as he leaves the room. Kerry meets him at the doorway, crashing into his leg like she’s been magnetized to it. She peeks around it at Dean and offers a tentative smile.

“Thank you for getting rid of that lady. I didn’t like her.” She extends a hand and he sees the bag of peanut M&Ms she’s holding. “You want some?”

“Sure,” he says, grinning. That’s a kid after his own heart right there.

Kerry’s smile brightens and she advances on Dean without releasing her grip on Eliot’s pant leg. The other man lets himself be dragged with a longsuffering look on his face.

“Here,” Kerry chirps, tipping the bag of candy to pour several pieces into Dean’s hand. He pops one into his mouth, noting the junk food wrappers visible from the open backpack.

“So you had a stash with you, huh? You’ve been eating okay?”

“That stuff ain’t food,” Eliot grumbles.

“Yes, it is,” Dean and Kerry chorus, then share a delighted smile.

Eliot sighs, then taps Kerry on the head. “Your daddy’s real worried about you, hon. Let’s get you home.”

“Okay.” Kerry releases her grip on Eliot’s leg and reaches up instead, and without a word, he swings her up into his arms. Dean’s pretty sure she’s past the age where kids get carried around a lot, but she seems to need the comfort, and it’s not like Eliot seems all that put out having to carry her. “Bye!” the girl says, waving, and Eliot nods at him as they leave the house.

Dean slumps a little in his chair, then pops the rest of the candies into his mouth. Okay. Ghost ganked, girl saved. And he doesn’t even have to worry about getting her home safe. He’ll call Dad later, tell him the job’s done. For now, he just needs to drag his ass back to the hotel, maybe take a nap. Or get some food. And then he needs a drink.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean eyes the pool table across the bar and moves his shoulder thoughtfully. He could clean these guys out if he had any faith that his arm would actually cooperate. But no, Eliot’s left him without his ability to make any money. At least he still has a few fake credit cards on him.

He’s contemplating crossing the bar to get a third beer when someone slides into the booth across from him. A fresh beer appears next to his empty bottles, and Dean decides he forgives Eliot for the temporary handicap. At least for now.

The guy’s no longer dressed like a ninja (or Batman), having traded the black for jeans and a dark red button-down. His hair, free of the hat, seems to be growing towards his shoulders, but has none of the ridiculous flop to it that Sammy’s does.

“So,” Eliot says and takes a sip of his own beer- a fancier brand than Dean’s drinking, but what does he care about that? “Wanna explain to me what that was all about back there?”

Dean shrugs as he reaches for the bottle. “You kept up pretty well for a civilian.”

Eliot actually laughs at that, though it’s not a terribly happy sound. “A civilian? Boy, I don’t care how many monsters there are out there that I don’t know about, there is no world in which I am a civilian.”

That’s probably a fair point. Dean’s never seen anyone fight like Eliot does. “Yeah, alright. You kept up well for not being a hunter.”

“Hunters? That’s what you call yourselves?” Dean’s about to question the plural, but Eliot goes on. “You, you’re used to working with someone at your back. You’ve got Marine training, but you’ve never served, and plenty of your background is in brawling anyway. You’re young, but you’ve obviously been at this for years. My guess? It’s a family thing, at least for you. Your daddy in the service? Not for a while, though. He trained you, and you worked with him, but you’re out on your own now. Probably missing having someone at your back, even if you’re glad it’s not him anymore.”

“Dude,” Dean says, then points at him with the hand holding the beer bottle. “Stop that. It’s creepy. I don’t know if mind readers count as monsters or not, but I don’t want to have to hunt you.”

“Like you could.”

“Like I said. Asshole.”

Eliot shrugs, a smug smile playing at his lips before he takes another drink. “Seriously, though, kid.”

“It’s Dean.”

“Dean.” Eliot’s head tips in acknowledgment, then he gestures with the bottle. “Eliot.”

“Caught that, yeah.”

“So. Ghosts. What else?”

“You gonna take up hunting?” Dean can see it. This guy would be a natural.

“Hell, no. Can’t see that fighting things no one believes in would pay very well.”

“Yeah, not so much.” Dean grimaces and takes a lengthy drink from his beer. “Or at all.”

Eliot nods. “But I don’t plan to be caught off guard next time. Something tries to kill me, I aim to kill it first.” He says this with a toothy smile, and Dean gets the impression that a lot of men have witnessed this motto of Eliot’s firsthand. He manages not to shiver.

He talks Eliot through the basics of hunting, and Eliot keeps them supplied with beer and then with nachos. The man asks intelligent questions, and Dean finds himself telling a few stories of hunts with his dad and with Sammy. Eliot shares no stories of his own, but he smiles and interjects in all the right places, and Dean finds himself wishing he could stick around. He likes Eliot, for all that the guy nearly killed him earlier that day.

“You ice that shoulder?” The question pulls him out of his thoughts, and he shrugs, then winces.

“Yeah?”

“You’re an idiot.”

“It’s been said.”

Eliot shakes his head and reaches into his pocket. He drops a few bills on the table, then tosses an envelope to Dean.

“What’s this?” Dean asks, catching it and opening it to peek inside.

“Your share of my fee for this job. Don’t spend it all in one place.” He grins then, and rises from the table. “Good luck, kid. Try not to get yourself killed.”

With a parting nod, Eliot saunters away from the table. Dean stares after him for a minute before looking back in the envelope. He’s no stranger to wads of cash; after all, most of the cash he handles comes from places just like this, when he can hustle everyone around for their pocket money. But that’s usually fives and tens, sometimes twenties and sometimes ones. This. This is two separate stacks of hundred dollar bills. Dean has never seen this much money in his life. He’s certainly never had his hands on it.

Dean’s pretty sure he wants to meet Eliot again even more now. Hell, if their next collaboration is even half this profitable, he is so on board.

Maybe next time he’ll remember to ask what the hell Eliot actually does.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a few sequels already planned, but not many once either of the shows' timelines begin. So I am more than open to suggestions. I make no promises, but I like to oblige where I can.
> 
> If you don't have a suggestion, I'd love to hear from you anyway. Kudos are fun, but comments spark discussion, and I love those. And since I don't understand tumblr yet, here is where my conversations happen.
> 
> Also. Yes, I am aware that this story is technically set before Bale's Batman entered our lives with his gravelliest of gravelly voices. I am choosing to ignore that fact.


End file.
